Page 4 of Tempted To Be Mine

I had slid up beside her, leaning one elbow against the bar in a pose that had graced a dozen magazine covers. “Let me guess,” I had said. “Piña colada?”

She had laughed, a light, bubbly sound. “How’d you know?”

“You look like a woman who appreciates the classics.”

The bartender, a guy in a hideous Hawaiian shirt, had raised his eyebrows at me. “And for you?”

“Just water.” I had flashed an apologetic smile. “I’m working.”

The blonde had tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “Working? On a beach?”

“Photoshoot.” I had gestured vaguely back toward the hotel. “For a clothing brand.”

Her eyes had widened. “Are you a model?”

I had shrugged like it was no big deal, even though I knew exactly what that shrug did to my shoulders in the basic white tank I wore. Another part of the gig. “Guilty.”

“That’s so cool!” She had touched my arm, her fingers light against my skin. “What kind of⁠—”

“I’m Jeremy.” I had held out my hand, eager to move past the details of my career and on to more exciting things, like what her plans were for the evening.

“Brittany.” She had giggled again. “So what kind of photoshoot? Like swimsuits or something?”

“Fashion. High-end stuff.” I had waved a hand, dismissing the topic again. “What do you do for work?”

She had laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. The sun had caught the blonde strands and I had decided I wanted to run my fingers through it.

“I’m an ultrasound technologist,” she’d said.

The bartender had slid her piña colada across the bar, complete with a tiny umbrella and a cherry on top. She had taken a sip and made a little sound of appreciation that sent my imagination into overdrive.

I had angled toward her. “Nothing gets me into more trouble than a woman who’s smarter than me.”

Brittany had looked at me with those big eyes, hanging on my every word. She kept finding excuses to touch my arm. My hand. Each touch had been light and seductive, just enough to make sure I knew she was interested.

Message received. After all that, it was now time to go in for the kill.

“So,” she said, twirling the tiny umbrella between her fingers, “how long is your photoshoot?”

“Hard to say.” I watched her lips close around the straw. “Could be another hour. Could be three.”

“That’s a long time to be working on such a beautiful day.”

“It is.” My gaze drifted down her body, slow and appreciative. “Seems like a waste.”

Her mouth curved with an invitation on those plump lips. “Maybe you could take a break?”

The hotel was right there. Five minutes to get her upstairs, ten minutes in my room to give her a little preshow of what tonight could be, and I’d be back on set before anyone noticed I was gone.

“A break sounds nice,” I said, leaning closer. “What did you have in mind?”

She flashed another seductive smile. “I’m staying at the hotel, and my room has this amazing view of the ocean, and⁠—”

Her eyes went wide, focusing on something over my shoulder. Her whole demeanor shifted, the flirtatiousness vanishing.

“Um,” she said. “Who’s that?”

“Jeremy Blackwell.”